Chiaroscuro
Chapter 1: Richard Serra – Band
Summary: After falling asleep in a museum, Ryou finds himself mistaken for and subsequently kidnapped by the infamous art thief, Thief King Bakura. AU.
Pairing: Tendershipping (Yami Bakura x Bakura Ryou)
Disclaimer: Yu-Gi-Oh!, LACMA (including BCAM), any works of art mentioned, and anything you recognize do not belong to me.
Notes: I do not know proper museum policy for dealing with art thieves and do not intend any offense towards LACMA. Because the works of art mentioned in this story are real, I also included a real museum that I am familiar with. If anyone has a problem with this, let me know and I will edit my story appropriately.
Though this is an alternate universe, shadow magic and the Millennium Items (the Ring in particular) still do exist. This will be explained later.
"Heads up!"
Bakura Ryou whirled around, only to have pain explode at the side of his head. He let out a cry and dropped to the ground in shock, spilling the contents of his bin everywhere.
"Woah, man, you okay?" A blonde teenager jogged over, followed closely by a shorter boy with tricolored hair.
Ryou smiled weakly, carefully rubbing the point of impact on his scalp. "I'm fine, Jounouchi, thank you." He pulled himself up to a kneeling position and began gathering his scattered utensils. The shorter boy, upon reaching him, also dropped down and started pulling the various papers into a neat stack.
"I'm really sorry about that, man." Jounouchi rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. He stood there awkwardly for a few moments before running off to collect his soccer ball.
Ryou pulled his bin towards him and began restacking his supplies in careful, neat piles. The case for his woodless graphite had snapped open again, leaving the delicate pencils inside in pieces. Ryou sighed before placing the pieces back in the case. He'd tape them back together when he got home.
"What should I do with these?" Ryou's star-haired classmate held out the stack of papers he had collected. Ryou blinked at them, confused, before realizing they were the rough sketches of his completed works that had likely slipped out of his portfolio. He took them gratefully with a soft thanks and placed them back in their proper spot.
"You're a really good artist," the boy murmured, cocking his head and smiling cutely.
Ryou smiled back. "Thank you, Yuugi-kun." He placed the last item back in the bin and stood.
Jounouchi returned, soccer ball in his hands. He eyed the bin and turned to Yuugi. "Hey, it's getting dark. Let's go to the arcade." Turning back to Ryou, he asked, "Wanna come with?"
Ryou shook his head, white hair fluttering. "I need to get this stuff home," he replied, shifting the bin to a more comfortable position in his arms.
Yuugi smiled. "Well then, next time, okay? Summer break just started, after all."
Ryou smiled softly. "Actually, my dad is sending me to America over the summer to study art." He had wanted to tour Europe, but his father, in an unexpected show of parental protectiveness, had drawn the line at English-speaking countries. Knowing the UK all too well, he had chosen America.
"Woah, really? That's so cool!" Jounouchi stared at Ryou, stars glittering in his eyes. Ryou took a small, unconscious step back, unnerved. "Bring back some souvenirs, okay?"
Ryou murmured his assent and took a step to the side. 'Um, I need to get going, so…"
Jounouchi and Yuugi nodded, and the small group exchanged their farewells and promises to meet up upon his return at the end of summer. Unfortunately, that was not to be.
Ryou glanced over his sketchbook as his plane began the descent into Los Angeles International Airport. They were all rough sketches, and none seemed particularly interesting. There was not much inspiration to be found in an oversized metal can with grumpy, tired people, after all.
He moved through the familiar arrival procedure, paying no attention to his surroundings. Los Angeles or no, all airports looked the same in the end. What did pique his interest was a magazine in a newsstand that seemed to be displaying… him?
No, it was not him, he realized as he moved closer. Though the white hair was similar to his own and the picture too blurry to make out specific features, the hair was shorter, too wild, and the skin was much darker than his own pale tint. Ryou frowned. Why would a magazine put a blurry picture on its front cover?
THE THIEF KING
SEPARATING RUMOR FROM REALITY
SPECIAL INSIDER EDITION ON THE INFAMOUS ART THIEF
'Interesting…' he thought as he flipped through its pages. Wanting to read at his own leisure, Ryou bought the magazine and began reading as he made his way to baggage claim.
Three hours and a frustrating misunderstanding later, Ryou stepped out of his taxi in front of the hotel that would be his home for the two months. Sighing, he shelled out the money for all three hours, not wanting to argue with the incompetent taxi driver. After the cab peeled away, he secured his room and dragged his luggage to the second story.
The room was small. There was enough space for him to sleep and eat, but not much else. Though Ryou had planned to spend the majority of his time in the museums, he had been hoping to do some painting at the motel. However, with the size of the room, it looked like that was not an option. Ryou frowned.
He spent the next hour carefully unpacking his luggage. His clothes went into the drawers and the closet, his toiletries in the bathroom, his books on the tiny, cramped table. His art supplies were laid out on his bed in preparation for the next day's excursion to the nearest museum. As he reached into his backpack to similarly empty its contents, he came across the magazine he had forgotten about during his frustrating journey.
The teen stood there for a few moments, looking at the blurry picture of the art thief on the cover before placing it gently to the side. After reorganizing the contents of his backpack around the small motel room, he picked up the magazine and curled up in the worn kitchen chair to begin reading.
The Thief King, he learned, was a rather young thief who specialized in stealing works of art from museums all across the country. The title was one he had given himself by leaving a sort of name card behind with each heist, and despite the government's every effort to keep the name hidden, the press and the public had jumped on the moniker. He apparently made no effort at hiding his appearance, often walking right past cameras and waving to shocked guards. Despite this, there were no clear pictures of him anywhere, and his identity remained unknown.
According to the few images, the security tapes, and the accounts of the guards who had seen him, the Thief King was in his late teens or early twenties, with messy white hair, dark skin, and a large scar under his right eye. At every heist, he wore the same long red robe, which experts had determined was of some Middle-Eastern origin.
Some of the stolen pieces ended up back in their proper museums after being recovered from the underground, and a good number were expected to still be floating around illegally in others' hands. However, many pieces were supposedly in the private care of the Thief King himself.
One of the aspects that made the thief so difficult to catch was the difficulty in predicting where he would strike next. There was no pattern in the works he stole or the museums he hit. He stole famous and unknown paintings and sculptures from all different time periods and styles, even somehow stealing the largest ones despite working solo. The museums were similarly big and small, and he could steal from the West Coast one day and pilfer from the East the next. The only thing investigators knew for certain was that he remained in the United States, though they suspected that he may one day begin hitting international as well.
Ryou reached the last page of the magazine and closed it, mind racing. What kind of person was this man? Why did he steal artwork, only to keep some and sell the others? How did he get around when he had such distinctive features?
He sat on the uncomfortable kitchen chair in deep thought before a growl from his stomach rudely jerked him away from his thoughts. Looking up at the clock, he was shocked to see how much time had passed. The motel room was equipped with a small, noisy refrigerator, but there was no food in it yet…
Ryou stood, tossing the magazine onto the small table and grabbing his wallet and key. He'd eat out tonight, and then grab some groceries on the way back.
With that in mind, Ryou stepped out into the cool evening air, all thoughts of thief kings and art left behind.
The next day pushed its way into Ryou's consciousness through the means of a single beam of sunlight that found its way through the dark curtains and straight into Ryou's eyes.
Ryou groaned and pulled the spare pillow over his eyes, but his mind was already conscious and slowly registering the sounds of cars and people on the street below. After wiggling down the bed to avoid the sunlight, he tossed off the pillow and sat up, yawning.
The teen rubbed his eyes and blinked sleepily, taking in his surroundings. He let out a soft sigh and swung his legs off the side of the bed. 3:37PM, the bedside clock declared. Ryou was shocked for a moment, but he then remembered that he was in America and the combination of the time change and long early morning flight probably meant that his sleeping schedule would be a little funky for a while.
Ryou sighed. If he hurried, he could still get to the nearest museum before it closed at eight and browse through. He quickly moved through his morning ritual, dressing himself in his favorite striped shirt and grabbing a few fruits for a meal. Determining that he would not have enough time to sit and draw, he simply placed his smallest sketchbook in his backpack in case of sudden inspiration. After giving himself a quick glance in the mirror, he grabbed his wallet and key and practically ran out the door.
A few confusing bus rides later, Ryou found himself standing in front of the Los Angeles County Museum of Art. He only had about two and a half hours to look around… He headed towards the Broad Contemporary Art Museum. He wasn't very particular for modern art, so he would spend the rest of the day here and explore the main galleries tomorrow.
After two hours of going through BCAM, Ryou was starving and inexplicably exhausted. None of the pieces caught his eye, and he spent more time wondering what drugs the artists were on than the compositions themselves. He began heading towards the exit, ready to leave, only to see out of the corner of his eye a wall of… wood?
Curiosity piqued, he headed to the wood wall and entered the room it was in. Taking a closer look, he realized that the wall was really a large, curved metal strip that twisted elegantly around itself. Ryou spun around, looking for a description. Band, the piece was called, by Richard Serra. He peeked out the doorway he had entered through and saw a similar piece on the other side.
Looking around to see if anyone was watching, he walked around the sculpture and found the entrance into the piece. Ryou stepped in, feeling as if he was in a very elegant steel maze. He kept walking until he reached what seemed to be the center of the piece and sat down, taking off his backpack and leaning against the cool wall. Feeling an almost surreal sense of displacement, he admired the arcing metal above and around him. Lulled by the serenity of the sculpture, Ryou felt another wave of sleepiness come over him and closed his eyes almost involuntarily.
'I'll just rest for a moment,' he thought.
Fifteen minutes later, the closing of LACMA was announced and guards began making their rounds to ensure no one was still in the museum. However, having gone through the routine so many times before, they gave Band only a cursory glance and a shout-out to see if anyone was still inside. Hearing and seeing nothing, they continued on and locked up the museum, leaving a white-haired boy sleeping peacefully on the floor inside Band.
When Ryou awoke, the first thing he noticed was that he was laying on a cold, hard surface and he was freezing. He sat up, disoriented, and tried to figure out just where he was. He squinted into the darkness and saw a great looming shape in front of him –
The teen's eyes widened in horror. He had fallen asleep in the museum! And judging by the darkness around him, it was past closing time and everyone was gone.
Ryou stood shakily, leaning on the metal for support. First things first, he needed to get out of here. He picked up his backpack and felt along the metal, walking unsteadily as he followed its twists and curves. The longer he walked, the faster he moved, panic lodging in his throat and tears welling in his eyes until finally he reached the end of the piece and practically cried in relief, breath escaping in short pants.
He stumbled out of the room, rubbing furiously at his eyes, and headed towards the doors. No good – they were locked. Ryou let out a hopeless cry and moved back into the museum, looking for a curator, a guard, anyone.
His running around must have either been heard or caught on camera, for it wasn't long before two guards came running towards him. Ryou smiled in relief.
"Please –" he started.
"Thief!" one of the guards yelled as the other grabbed Ryou's arm in a bruising grip. Ryou let out a pained cry.
"Wait!" he called out as the guards began dragging him out. "I'm not a thief! I just fell asleep and –"
The guard snarled and yanked him forward. "Save it for the police, thief."
Ryou let himself go limp, following the guard as instructed as thoughts flew chaotically in his head. 'Surely once they realize I only fell asleep they'll let me go,' he thought desperately. But in the back of his mind, he had a feeling that he would not be let go so easily. Oh, why, why, WHY was he so idiotic as to fall asleep in a museum?
By the time he became aware that he had stopped, the guards had brought him somewhere in the main building in LACMA. One of the guards still held his arm tightly enough that Ryou was starting to lose feeling in the appendage. The other one was talking to another burly man who appeared to be the head of security.
The burly guard stepped forward and looked Ryou over, bottom to top. Ryou squirmed under the gaze, and the hand on his arm tightened in response. The boy flinched and let out a sharp yelp.
The guard stared at Ryou's hair, eyes widening in a way Ryou would have found funny if he hadn't been scared out of his mind. The man's jaw went slack.
"The Thief King!" he exclaimed, reaching out to grab a clump of Ryou's hair.
The other guards stared at Ryou incredulously. "This is the Thief King?" the guard that held on to Ryou questioned.
Ryou was shocked. "No! I'm not the Thief King! I'm not even a thief! Onegai, boku wa – I mean, I'm just a visitor and I got locked in –"
The guards laughed. "Likely story, Thief King," the burly one sneered.
The man that stood off to the side remarked, "Are you sure that's him, sir? He looks dreadfully… weak."
The burly guard yanked on the lock of hair he held in his hand, eliciting a pained cry from the teen. "Look at this hair! Messy and white, just like they said. You ever see this kinda hair anywhere else?"
The other guard still looked doubtful. "I heard he had this great big scar under his eye."
"You can hide scars with make-up," the guard replied. "Go call the police. Tell them we found ourselves some royalty!" He laughed.
Unbeknownst to any of them, another white-haired teen watched the group, having heard the entire conversation. He had snuck in to steal some random piece from the museum, but after hearing the commotion in the lobby, he had gone to investigate.
'So they found some guy in the museum and think it's me?' the true Thief King wondered. 'Interesting.' He then frowned. Interesting as it was, he didn't like the idea of somebody else getting credit for his work. He'd have to interfere.
The Thief King stepped forward.
Ryou whimpered as the two remaining guards continued to make crass jokes above his head. The situation had gotten a hundred times worse; now he had to prove to them that he wasn't the Thief King and his father would get involved and he'd be so, so disappointed in him –
Ryou's panicking was cut short as a rough voice called out to them. "Mind if I cut in, gentlemen?" The voice laughed, and Ryou shivered at the mania it carried.
The guards fell silent. "Who's there?" the burly one questioned the darkness, and when Ryou craned his neck, he saw a figure half-hidden in the shadows.
The figure stepped out, and Ryou gasped. The messy white hair, the dark skin, the red robe, the scar – no doubt, this was –
"The Thief King," the figure answered, a feral grin stretching across his face. The guards, shocked, looked down at Ryou, with his pale skin and wide, terrified eyes, then back up at the real thief.
"Get him!" one of them yelled, and Ryou was suddenly released from the guard's death grip. He fell back, shocked, and watched as the guards ran towards the criminal.
The next few events happened too fast for Ryou to immediately comprehend. The Thief King lazily held out a hand, something under his shirt glowed, and there was a flash of what seemed to be pure darkness. The guards fell to the ground mid-run and lay motionless. Ryou gasped.
The Thief King turned to the teen sitting on the floor and leisurely made his way over, stepping over the prone bodies of the guards with their faces frozen in shock. With each step he took, the boy scuttled back a little more until his back finally hit the opposite wall. He whimpered.
The thief chuckled and took the final steps to where the boy sat. He lifted his chin up with a finger, tilting the pale face towards him, and took in the white hair, the frightened eyes, and the delicate mouth that exhaled in short pants. The thief smirked.
The last thing Ryou saw was the same flash of darkness before he fell unconscious.
Author's notes
I know how this story begins, and I know how this story ends, but there is a large blank in the middle. Any and all suggestions will be taken and carefully considered!
The best thing a reader can do for a writer is leave a constructive criticism. I take the quality of my writing very seriously, and I want to know how I can improve (which includes fixing any typos you may find).